Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order (30 page)

“Hell, I don't know. Lavender, I guess.”

“Were the boots solid purple?”

“No. Just the upper part.”

Derek punched the mic for his radio. “Everyone keep an eye out for a hot redhead in jeans and a low-cut light blue sweater. Also for a couple of fuglies, one with purple boots.”

“He didn't say the women were ugly,” I admonished Derek.

The Big Dick rolled his eyes this time. “He said they were
plain.
That's guy-speak for fugly.”

“Point taken.” Things would be a lot easier if men and women would use the same language. I stood. “I'll be right back,” I said, looking down at the victim. “Stay here.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Where do you think I'd go in this condition?”

Leaving Derek in charge of the victim, I jogged over to my cruiser, Brigit running along beside me, her tags jingling like a Christmas sleigh. When I reached the patrol car, I unlocked it and pulled the printouts from the boot stores out of my bag. After locking the cruiser back up, I hurried back to Gallatin.

I held the documents out to him. “Look through this. See if you spot those boots.”

Before Gallatin could take the papers from me, Derek snatched them out of my hand. He paged through them then eyed me suspiciously as he held up the documents. “What's this?”

I had to tell him the truth. For one, it would help him do his job as a cop. For two, he had a direct line to Chief Garelik. If I wasn't up front with Derek, he could sic the chief on my ass. “Everyone who's been robbed here has reported a potential accomplice with colorful boots.”

Derek's eyes narrowed. “Why didn't you tell the rest of us?”

“I did. Remember when I told everyone to look out for a girl wearing black and green boots? You asked if that was all she was wearing. Suggested we put out an APB.”

Derek's expression turned sour. He couldn't deny it.

“Besides,” I added. “All of those details were in my reports. I left copies along with a summary memo in the office here. It read
urgent
across the top in twenty-four-point type. Didn't you read it?”

He didn't bother answering me verbally, responding only with a snort.

I snatched the printout back out of his hands and passed it to Gallatin. “Take a look.”

The man glanced down at the pages. “It's too dark. I can hardly tell what I'm looking at here.”

I activated the flashlight app on my phone and shined the illuminated screen down on the pages. He flipped through them, stopping on a pair of boots identified as the Tan Arizona model. He jabbed a finger at the picture. “That's what they looked like.”

The boots were sold at the Justin Boots outlet store, just like some of the pairs the female victims had identified. I dared not let myself get too excited. Yes, this tidbit helped me narrow down which boot store to hit first, but the lead wouldn't necessarily pan out. The store could have sold dozens of these types of boots, maybe even hundreds. This Crystal woman might have paid for them in cash, which would be untraceable. Heck, for all I knew she'd borrowed the boots from a friend. Or she could be from out of town. Maybe she was just in town for the rodeo and had ordered the boots online. I'd had a similar lead in the bombing case and it had gone nowhere. Nevertheless, I was glad to have some direction.

The paramedics arrived then. I let them tend to Mr. Gallatin. I figured I'd gotten pretty much all I could from him.

Chief Garelik came riding up on one of the courtesy golf carts, jumping off before the stock show staff member driving the cart could bring it to a full stop.

“What the hell is going on?” he barked.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me expectantly, as if I were responsible for this crime and therefore should be the one to explain it to the chief.

I gestured to the man sitting on the gurney and being poked and prodded by the paramedics. “This is Sloane Gallatin, sir. He came out to his truck with a young woman he met in the dance hall. When he realized she had taken his wallet out of his back pocket, he grabbed her wrist to stop her. She responded by kneeing him in the groin and then hitting and shocking him with a cattle prod she'd pulled from the bed of his truck.”

“So now we've got actual injuries?” The chief turned and kicked the back tire of the golf cart, taking his frustrations out on the vehicle, startling the driver. “I tell you what!” the chief bellowed. “This godforsaken stock show can't end soon enough for me. It's been a cluster fuck of epic proportions!”

With that he put a hand on Derek's shoulder. “Let's go get a goddamn beer.”

The two of them climbed into the golf cart and the driver took off. Having loaded Gallatin into the ambulance, the paramedics climbed into the cab and drove off, too.

I waited for the crime scene tech to arrive, directing people not to walk between Gallatin's truck and the one parked next to it. “Protected area!” I called, motioning with my hand for them to circle around the other side of the vehicles. “Go around that way, please.”

The crime scene tech arrived and used tongs to pick up the cattle prod and place it in a large plastic evidence bag. While he carefully scanned the ground for any overlooked pieces of evidence—a piece of the woman's jewelry, a button from her jacket, maybe a cell phone dropped in the struggle—I shined my large flashlight over his shoulder and under Gallatin's pickup and the one next to it.

“I don't see anything,” he said from his prone position between the trucks. “Other than some cigarette butts, a plastic straw, and some goat droppings.” With that he pushed himself to his knees and began to gather his things.

The
clop-clop-clopping
of horse hooves on asphalt drew my attention to the right. Clint rode up on Jack. He'd traded his chaps and spurs for his deputy uniform. Back on duty, evidently.

He pulled his horse to a stop in front of me. “Hey.”

I looked up at him. “Hey yourself.”

The tech raised a silent hand in good-bye. I gave him a nod of acknowledgment before returning my attention to my favorite deputy.

Clint pulled a new blue ribbon from his pocket. “Another one for the trophy case.”

“Congratulations,” I told him. “Looks like this was a lucky night for you.”

“Luck, nothin'. Blue ribbons are earned with talent. And skill. And balls.”

“Well, I suppose you're lucky to have that talent and skill.”

“Don't forget the balls.”

I pursed my lips. “Of course. How could I?”

“I just hope I'll be wearing a new championship belt buckle come next Saturday night.”

The night would mark the final rounds of the rodeo events and the end of the stock show. Frankly, the night couldn't come soon enough for me, either. I was tired of patrolling outside in the cold. Tired of the evasive purse snatchers and pickpockets. The only thing I wasn't tired of was Clint and his gorgeous brown eyes.

He cocked his head. “Heard you were asking about me.”

My face warmed with a blush. “Just wondering where you'd gone.”

“Did you miss me?”

I put a hand on Jack's velvety nose. “I missed your horse.”

Clint pulled his foot from the stirrup and nudged my butt with his boot. “Come on. You missed me a little bit, too. Admit it.”

I slapped his foot away. “Okay. I did miss you. But
only
a little bit.” No sense giving this guy a bigger head than he already had at the moment. Besides, men never wanted a woman they didn't have to work for. Not for long, anyway. I'd watched enough romantic comedies to know that. I supposed I wouldn't want a guy I didn't have to work for, either.

Clint stared down me for a moment. “How are things with ‘boy trouble'? Still uncertain?”

Things with Seth were more certain than they'd been a week ago, but I wasn't ready to commit just yet. I was still getting to know Seth, still trying to figure him out, what made him tick, still wondering whether I could fully trust him, whether he was relationship material. He'd come to me the night of the fire seeking solace, which spoke volumes about how he looked at me now. Still, no sense in investing all of myself in one man until I was sure about things. Diversifying my portfolio would pose less risk, right? Nonetheless, a sense of guilt settled on my shoulders. I might not be ready to commit to Seth, but I didn't want to lead him on. I didn't want to lead Clint on, either, though given that he was aware of Seth he seemed to be walking into whatever this was with his eyes wide open.

I ran a hand over Jack's shoulder, trying to decide how to respond.

A man of action, Clint didn't wait. He nudged me again with his boot. “Nothing wrong with you and me having a drink, is there?”

I looked up at him. “I suppose not.”

“Well, well, well.” His brown eyes lit with a spark. “Looks like this is my lucky night, after all.”

 

FORTY-ONE

PAWING AND PETTING

Brigit

Megan left Brigit at her apartment and set off with Clint. She didn't even give Brigit a chew toy or dry dog biscuit to keep the dog occupied before she left.

How rude. Stupid, too. Had Megan learned nothing?

Well, Brigit would show her. Just as soon as she figured out how to open the closet door. Megan had removed the lever-style handle and replaced it with a round type that would be much harder for Brigit to open.
Damn my lack of opposable thumbs!
What's more, the handle had a lock on it. A lock that required a key. Not that Brigit fully understood what the jagged hole in the center of the knob meant. She only knew that after an hour of trying, she still couldn't get the darn door open.

Well, if I can't pull the door open, I'll just have to go through it, won't I?

She put her paws to the door and began scratching her way through.

*   *   *

When Megan returned with Clint, Brigit could tell she was furious. The floor was covered with splintered wood and the soggy, bite-marked remains of a tennis shoe and a fuzzy green slipper. Not exactly gourmet fare, but Brigit had worked her way through Megan's footwear over the past few weeks and pickings had become slim. Besides, she'd had to take what she could manage to grab. Megan had moved her shoes to the top shelf of the closet. They hadn't been easy to reach.

Megan glared down at the dog. “Wish I had that cattle prod right now.”

Brigit wasn't sure exactly what Megan's words meant, but by their tone she could tell Megan was enraged. She also knew if the words contained a threat it was an idle one.

Megan might be a tough cop, but when it came to her furry partner she was all bark and no bite.

 

FORTY-TWO

SOLE PROPRIETOR

Robin Hood

Could her sisters have been any less helpful when that man had grabbed her wrist last night? For God's sake, they'd just stood there screaming, like a couple of little girls who'd seen a mouse. As usual, Robin Hood had had to do all of the heavy lifting.

Despite the fight the man put up, she had nonetheless managed to get away with his wallet. That cattle prod sure had come in handy. Of course she couldn't count on being so lucky again next time should one of her targets try to restrain her. No, she'd have to make sure she could defend herself. She'd sign up for karate lessons later this week, become a female Chuck Norris.
Hi-yah!
The classes would be a good workout, too, keep her in shape until she could land a husband and become the trophy wife she'd always dreamed of being. But, until she became proficient in martial arts, she needed a means of defense. That's why she was on her way to a pawnshop to buy a gun. Of course it wouldn't be the same pawnshop where she'd tried to sell the rings.

The man's wallet had held three hundred dollars in cash. Well worth the sore, bruised wrist she suffered today. He'd wrenched it good before she'd taken him down with a knee to the nuts. Still, she couldn't help but feel that all of that cash should have been hers. Her sisters had done nothing to earn their hundred-dollar shares. If anything, they'd jeopardized the operation, what with their shrieking drawing unnecessary attention.

Amateurs.

That's why she'd decided she'd work alone from now on. Well, that and the fact that her sisters had told her in no uncertain terms that they were out, that the risks were too great, that taking someone's money was one thing but hurting people was going too far. They thought she should've given the man his wallet back when he'd asked for it. Robin Hood snorted. A little bit of violence and they couldn't handle it.
Chickenshits.
Good riddance as far as she was concerned. She would get along just fine without them. Besides, she'd replace them with two new assistants. Who needs Merry Men when you've got Smith and Wesson?

The pawnshop contained the expected assortment of sketchy characters, some tooling around on the guitars, others looking over the electronics, one working sales at the gun counter. As much as the thought of a used gun repulsed her, she'd rather save her funds for clothing and accessories.

As she approached the counter, the clerk leered, revealing teeth upon which algae appeared to be growing. His hair looked like something you'd pull out of a dryer's lint trap.

“I want to buy a gun,” she said.

“You looking for protection?” He leaned over the counter and looked her up and down suggestively. “Maybe you should just get yourself a man.”

“A man? Sure. You know one?”

Cowed, the guy stepped back, casting her a furious look before getting down to business. “What kinda gun you want?”

“Something small and lightweight that will fit in my purse. One that's easy to use.”